Of Other Hunters
by butimnotdeadyet
Summary: What happens when someone else beats the boys to a job? They get put down. Canon up through season nine, takes place unrelated to season 10.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I am not really sure where I am going with this, if anywhere. My first fic. Please give feedback.

I don't own Sam, Dean, or their universe.

What happens when someone else beats the boys to a job? They get put down. Set somewhere along the lines of season ten.

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><p>Of Other Hunters<p>

She could handled the noise, she could even handle the gray fog that filled the room no matter how many windows she opened, but she could not stand the smell. Somehow, the ghost had developed such a stench over his two century life that is prevented her from thinking straight. It truly was sickening, a combination of sweet, rotten fruit, dried blood, and horseradish. Horrible. Holding back the coughing fit that was building in her chest, she kept moving, eyes scouring the room for the gloves that had chained the bastard ghost in the second story of the townhouse. She was sweating, and her finger almost slipping of the trigger of her shotgun as she pulled back to blast the soul with another salt-round distraction. He screamed, of course, but the sound, as it had sense she punched him with her iron knuckles, came out sounding like a bandsaw. She should have asked for double the fee for dealing with this nutcase.

She swiped her hand blindly across the desktop behind her, hoping to feel the soiled leather she was looking for brush her fingertips, but moved on to the narrow bookcase when they didn't appear. The apparition dissolved into the clouded air and popped back up in the other corner of the room, right by the hanging rack of decorative swords that some genius thought would look perfect in the room known by the homeowners as the Screaming Hall. The hooks supporting the sabers shook, ready to split from the wall completely any moment.

The hunter was still searching the shelving behind her with one hand, the other training the now empty gun on the ghost once again. She felt the gloves right as the top two swords ripped from the wall. Luckily, the spirit knew about as much about object propulsion as he did as a human and they pierced the wall above the desk while she grabbed the anchor objects and rolled to the right, were she had dropped her bag upon entering the room. From it she pulled out a yellow squeeze bottle of lighter fluid, one of the half dozen disposable lighters, and the quart of table salt that it's home in one of the outer pockets. The ghost, infuriated by her dodging his attempt at a human kabob, screamed even louder and tore at his balding scalp. She smiled, pushed her loosening braid back over her shoulder, and dropped the gloves on the ground in front of her. Still on her kneel from rolling, she scattered a handful of salt over them, followed by a healthy dose of flammable liquid. She lowered the lighter to the soaked leather and rolled the starter once, igniting the gloves, but moved her hands back into the bag to draw out two new shotgun shells just incase. The ghost pulled his hands from his face long enough to make a lewd gesture in her direction and then burned out like his gloves.

She stood up. The scream had yet to dissipate completely, still echoing throughout the room and probably down the hallway, and with her eyes fixed on the fading image, her hands removed and replaced the spent salt rounds automatically. After picking up her back and reloading most of her gear, she took the salt cylinder and cast a wide fan with its contents to help dilute the fog in the room. Then she heard the footsteps, two pairs, jogging down the hall towards the room she occupied. She shoved the remaining items into her bag, including the now fried gloves, slung across her body and set the gun again her shoulder.

A second later the door she had locked behind her was kicked open and two outlines were visible against the hallways dim glow: tall, masculine, and territorial. The hunter had the advantage of being in the darkest area of the room and used it to hide. Without the aura glow that had been emitted by the ghost, the room was nearly pitch black and she could easily tuck herself in beside the bookcase and be invisible even to the light from the doorway.

One of the men stepped forward into the room and clicked on a flashlight, she shot at the inside of his thigh when he took a step and he yelled to the other as he took a knee. His accomplice moved to his shoulder, he turned and his face caught the light. It was Dean Winchester. The hunter in the corner cursed under breath, realizing quickly that the brothers had caught on faster than she thought they would. She sent her remaining round into the standing brother's hip, but he took it in stride. He kept moving, gliding his own flashlight around the room hope to spot the shooter while stepping in between her and his brother. He wasn't even limping, her brain wheeled for an explanation until she recalled a rumor from a roadhouse back in Tennessee, that one of the infamous brothers had gone dark. She slinked out of the corner as noisily as possible. He still didn't see her, and the other brother still kneeling, when close enough to make out the vigilant eyes of the standing brother, she whispered, as loud as she dared.

"Christo."

He flinched, and his eyes flicked once, morphing from their human green to black demonic holes and then back again. He wiped around but she was now as near to the door as he and his brother were and before he had time to train his gun on her, she threw her hand up, willing what little telekinetic power she had to cast him backwards into his injured brother. She bolted out the door.

So it was true. The older Winchester had gone Hellside. She could believe it, infact she wasn't even sure it surprised her. What did surprize her was that they were gaining on her or, at least, he was. He being Dean, of course, which meant he must have left little brother of the floor of the room behind them. She had been about a twenty foot head start when she left the room but that was now down to maybe twelve. He was booking it, that was for sure, but he hadn't done anything demonic to catch up to her and seemed to be focusing his strength on running instead of taking her down with a salt round, so as long as she could lose him, she was golden. She turned onto a short connecting hallway and ducked into the one door on the eight foot stretch of wall, one that she had to pick the lock on earlier in order to gain access to the haunted part of the building. She leaned soundlessly against it, and listened as he bolted past. She turned and smiled for the second time that night as she started down the single flight of stairs that stood before her.

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><p><em>Damn, that girl was fast,<em> Dean thought as he sprinted his way back to Sam. She had all but disappeared, but not before taking out his brother with a salt shell to the leg and making his own eyes flash black. They had been there for a simple reason: take out the ghost that had killed the homeowners kid. It wasn't the reason they came to town, but it was supposed to be an in and out job, no recon needed, just doing a good deed, and it had started out just fine. The last thing they had expected was for something else to be in the room, let alone something that could take them both out- temporarily, but still, it was unexpected. Whatever she was, she was quick.

Sam had dragged himself out into the hallway and had his back against the wall, rubbing his leg and looking damn near close to crying. Dean couldn't really blame him, either, seeing as he was sure that if he could feel the pain in his hip, he would be on the floor, too. Sam gestured with his free hand back into the room.

"Well, whatever was in there is gone now. Did you get whoever shot us and shoved you?" Sam asked through clenched teeth. He didn't realize that the thing had thrown Dean into him without touching him.

"No, man, but you know what this means?" Dean teased with a smirk.

"No, Dean, what does this mean?", humoring his brother was sometimes just the best thing to do, especially when Sam had to depend on him to haul his 6'4 ass down stairs.

"This means," Dean said as he leaned down to grip under Sam's arm to pull him up, "that it's a damn good thing that I memorized the plate of that Challenger outside."


	2. Chapter 2

**_"No, man, but you know what this means?" Dean teased with a smirk._**

**_"No, Dean, what does this mean?", humoring his brother was sometimes just the best thing to do, especially when Sam had to depend on him to haul his 6'4 ass down stairs._**

**_"This means," Dean said as he leaned down to grip under Sam's arm to pull him up, "that it's a damn good thing that I memorized the plate of that Challenger__ outside."_**

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><p>Three hours later, Sam and Dean pulled into a hotel parking lot. A real hotel, not a hole in the wall motel on the outskirts of town, but a legitimate, multi story, concierge employing hotel. They had skimmed over the nearby traffic cams, oddly prevalent for a small town, to find the fleeing Challenger and pinpoint where its driver was spending the night. However, they had been expecting to uncover a squatter's paradise, not a traveler's home away from home. After parking across the property, Sam (having wrapped his swollen knee to minimize the limping) made his way into the office, acting the part of an upset boyfriend trying to find his runaway lover who happened to drive the same white Challenger that was sitting outside. The exhausted attendant slipped the supposedly desperate man a key card after making him swear not to cause a scene. Sam thanked him and made his way to the second floor, where he slid open a window for Dean to crawl through.<p>

His brother made short time of the twenty foot climb, but almost dropped the supply bag when he had to slide through the tiny avaliable space of the window. When he righted himself, Sam told him that the girls room was six rooms down on the right and the pair proceeded down the hall. Dean motioned for Sam to let him take point and Sam obliged, in no rush to have his other knee shot out by a more damaging form bullet. The light was on, that much was visible, but Dean couldn't hear anyone moving inside. He held up a fist then opened it palm up for the key card. Sam handed it over before placing his left hand on the door knob, making sure that they each had a dominant hand free to wield a weapon once the door was unlocked. Dean slid the card in the slot and they both waited for the subtle click before moving. In synchronization, the men opened the door, pocketed the key, and silently raised the Demon knife and .45 as they crossed the room.

It was a mess. Two bags sat nearly empty on the bed while the floor seemed to have adopted their contents. To the left of the bathroom door were three or so days worth of dirty clothing. Not just standard dirty, but hunter style dirty, and spread out as if to survey the damage. Dean and Sam both recognized the streaks of mud that come from being tossed by a vamp and the claw shreds on a pair of jeans, but neither were ready to throw up the white flag just because of a shared trade. After all, they had each been dealt a hefty blow by the clothing's owners. Dean could make out the sound of water streaming from a faucet as they neared the door, but heard it stopped as he laid his hand on the door knob. He kept moving, twisting the knob and gliding the door inward, but as soon as he could make out the image on the other side of the door he regretted it, from seeing the partial dress blonde right down to the sound of a bullet ripping through his shoulder and lodging itself in his right scapula and its brother planting itself in his chest cavity. The door swung in at full force, helped along by Dean's other arm fly out to catch himself but failing. Sam leapt forward, slicing with his right hand while grabbing for her pistol with his left. He cut into her forearm, but caused no flash, instead drawing a gush of blood that seeped down her arm and made her loosen her grip long enough for him to pry the gun away. She twisted and wound up for a kick, but Sam moved faster. He flipped the knife in his hand and brought the butt of in down against her skull, knocking her into the sink. Her arm shot out across the already short distance between them, grabbed a handful of his jacket, and yanked him closer, costing her yet another slice, this time to her left arm. Unfortunately for Sam, she was just near enough to slam her left knee into his crotch and bring her elbow down in the crook of his neck as he crumpled. As she kicked him over to make room to walk, she cursed her current attire and moved to slide a tank over her bloodied bra and stomach before making a quick exit. Just as she pulled her arms and head through the holes, the other Winchester heaved himself off the floor.

The woman jumped back, almost tripping over the taller brother's feet, but her mouth clenched in anger. She had used the same type of bullets countless times and they, without fail, had put down every demon for at least half an hour. What made this one different? She casted her hand out, palm facing him, but nothing happened.

He smiled wickedly, saying that he was ready for her this time before straightening to his full height and landing a tightfisted blow to her left eye.

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><p>The first the she noticed upon regaining consciousness was that she was in a much darker room than the one she had rented. Next she felt was her head throb, followed by coarse fibers digging into her wrist, knees, and ankles. Then she felt the cold and not just from the iron chain wrapped around her stomach. It it felt like she was caged inside the vampires lair again, only this time she was a layer and a half short of naked and soaked in her own fresh blood. Her eyes didn't want open, due mostly to the caking redness from her wound, but partly to her exhaustion. She had been going non stop, taking down a vamp, wolf, and ghost in a matter of three days, but it wasn't until that moment, in which there was nothing to do but to sit tied to an unforgiving chair, that she felt tired. She was about to let her head fall back again when a hand landed firmly on her shoulder and a voice tsked in her ear.<p>

"Now, now, we can't have you falling back to sleep, now can we?"

Her eyes popped open without interference. The speaker was leaning over in front of her. It was Dean Winchester, though he didn't look demonic at that particular moment. His eyes, just inches away from her own, were a deep, fresh green and surrounded by a scattering of freckles- nearly human. She wanted to spit at him, but had a feeling it would consist mostly of her own blood, so she lurched forward and nearly managed to ram her head Ito his nose before he retreated a few inches.

"Uhg! Now why would you do that, sweetie?" He said in a deep voice. "After all, _you're_ the one that _we_ should be punishing, you did a number on my poor brother over there." As he said it, he turned her face to the left with the hand not occupied on her shoulder so that she could make out the relaxed shape of his brother in the dim room. He was holding an ice pack to his groin in his sleep. The demon called his name and he woke with a start.

"Hey, brother, guess who's woke up."

The other Winchester stood up, set down the ice, and walked over to them, careful to move his hips as little as possible. The image made the ensnared hunter scoff and realize that she was gagged as well as tied. Dean whipped her face back around.

"Oh, so you think that was funny, huh? Was it funnier than shooting us with rock salt or tossing me backwards?" He removed his hands from her shoulder and chin, instead setting them on armrest and pinning her own down even more. She growled as the contact with his skin set her cuts on fire.

"But, I guess he did quite a number on you, too, didn't he?" He smirked, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to rip out every single one of his teeth.

"Dean, you better take that thing out of her mouth if you want any answers," pointed out Sam from behind his brother. Dean rolled his eyes but made behind her to remove the cloth anyway, giving the other hunter a chance to take in their location, which was some sort of large, cement parking basement, lit by naked bulbs hanging sporadically from the ceiling, and empty accept for the chair she sat in, the brothers, and their fabled black Impala.

With the gag removed, the taste of blood filled her mouth so quickly that she nearly threw it up, but instead she forced it to collect on the roof of her mouth and spat it out at her captor once he resumed his position in front of her.

"That..." he said while dragging a hand down his face, "was just _disgusting_. You know, even vessels can get blood diseases, so I really hope you clean." She smiled in response and let the remaining blood trickle out the side of her mouth.

"Well, I figured that there was very little I could do to make your day worse, but that was one way." Her voice was raw, but both the men understood her perfectly.

"Oh, honey, this hasn't even made my top 100. However, I am curious to know why you decided to pump my brother and I with rock salt then bolt like a bat out of Hell. You didn't even stop to say sorry." He ended with a puedo frown. She sucked all of the moisture of her mouth back in, read to have another go, but he must have caught the motion, because he backhanded her across the face causing her blood tainted spray to fall harmlessly on the floor.

"Now, I would like to have a civil conversation between hunters, but if you keep spitting on me, I _will_ go about this the fun way."

Sam was rustling around in the back seat of the car and came out holding her weapons bag from the hotel.

"Look, we get it. We surprised you while you were hunting, but based off your performance at the hotel, you didn't act out of fear. We just want to know why." Sam spoke more softly than his brother, keeping his distance with his hands raised. "Though I wouldn't say no to an apology."

"And I just want to know how you pulled off that lovely little bit of telekinetic mojo," tossed in Dean, which seemed to throw the younger brother a little bit.

"So that's why you were so set on me bringing the knife." Sam muttered in understanding.

"Yeah, this little cupcake managed to toss my around hands free. Tried to do it again back in the hotel, too, but I saw it coming that time."

Her only response was a rush of air from her nose and a slight squirm.

"So," Sam began as he pulled out a small stack of IDs from the duffle, "how about you start from the beginning, Miss-" he cut off and she smirked, causing Dean to turn to look at him, but Sam was busy shuffling through her deck of personas. She knew what he had come across.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he asked without looking up. Oh, she was looking forward to this.

"What do you mean, Sammy? What's the joke? If you're looking for something to call me, Sara is always good. Sara Winchester or Mills or Carver, whatever works for ya." She tossed him a smile and wink that Dean caught instead. He stood up and turn his whole body towards his brother.

"What does she mean, Sam?" Dean crossed his arms. "What's wrong with her cards?"

"They're all here, Dean. Singer, Harvelle, Turner, Milton, Novak, Barnes, Campbell, Bradbury, Devereaux, Shurley, the ones she said, Tran-"

"Yeah, I still can't believe that anyone swallows for that one. It's pretty obvious that I am not of Asian descent". Sara said flipping her loose blonde hair over a shoulder to punctuate her point. "Oh, don't forget Fitzgerald, Milligan, ohhh and Richardson, but those IDs are in the other bag, along with the one I used to book the hotel room. Do you remember what the front desk called me when you asked for the key, Sammy?" She had watched his face as she added each name, but now she turned to Dean.

Sam thought back to his conversation with the hotel employ, with his strong northern accent and droopy eyes, but the conversation itself was less memorable. Sara's eyes flicked back to Sam as he thought and stayed there, watched the gears turn until they clicked, at which point her and the demon brothers eyes met as he leaned purposely into her line of vision.

Sam nearly gasped.

"Braeden, he called you Ms. Braeden."

Dean's eyes widened and he flew back to his previous position, this time leaning all of his weight onto her lacerated arms and grinding her elbows into the wood.

"How do you know _that _name?" He growled. It wasn't until that moment that she recognized him as the slayer he was known as. His eyes darkened, but not in the demonic sense. Up until that point, he had kept an air of contentedness, edging of humor. Even when they fought, he was controlled, sporting a smile and loving the hunt, but now he was different. His features sharpened and his lips pulled back to show his teeth, his stance widen to the point that everywhere she looked was him, blocking her from the rest of the world. He hiss the question again, slowly, making sure to stress every syllable. "_How do you know that name?"_

He was terrifying.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam, Dean, and Baby still aren't mine. Damn. Sara is, so hands off.

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><p><em>"How do you know that name?" He growled. It wasn't until that moment that she recognized him as the slayer he was known as. His eyes darkened, but not in the demonic sense. Up until that point, he had kept an air of contentedness, edging of humor. Even when they fought, he was controlled, sporting a smile and loving the hunt, but now he was different. His features sharpened and his lips pulled back to show his teeth, his stance widen to the point that everywhere she looked was him, blocking her from the rest of the world. He hiss the question again, slowly, making sure to stress every syllable. "How do you know that name?"<em>

_He was terrifying._

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><p>He watched as she paled, all the red in her face sank deep beneath her features, leaving only the crusting blood on the outside for color. Dean moved closer, to the point that he could see her skin jump with each heartbeat, and never broke eye contact. Women were different then men, he knew, if you gave them a chance to regroup, reform, then you would find them harder to break. He refused to let her so much as move until the bitch explained how she came to know Ben and Lisa's last name. The building had gone perfectly quiet. Dean raised a brow, repeating the question once again with the motion alone.<p>

"I don't-" she started, but was cut off by his hands moving, one to her throat and one to his rear pocket.

"Do not say that 'you don't' anything. I am not worried about what you don't. Tell me what you do." He pulled out a black tactical knife and laid it flush against the exposed skin on the shelf of her shoulder. "Or I will make sure that you have more than just two scars from tonight."

He wanted to dig the knife in, peel back a few inches of flesh and let it hang while she screamed, but he was fighting, man, was he fighting. The resilient effects of his mark were calling for him to spill just _a little more of her blood_. No, that was done for. No more bending to the will of the Mark. But he couldn't let her go.

"Try again." he suggested to 'Sara' before dragging the tip of the knife along her nearly bare clavicle and eliciting a shudder that nicked the skin by fault of her own movement. Her eyes were glassy, but free of tears.

"You won't understand what I have to tell you." She whispered, her eyes brows scrunching together.

"Well. I'll tell you what, you make it very simple, and I'll try to keep up, alright sweetheart?" Dean stilled his hand only long enough for her to draw a breath, then scraped a fingernail down the side of her neck with his right hand.

"A-a witch talks to me. She, she-" she started but her eyelids fluttered and she fell silent. Her face went slack for a split second followed by a neck twist that looked as though it were meant to shake away sleep.

"Go on, what does this witch tell you?" This time he ran the knife all the way down her right arm, cutting through the stream of blood that had been renewed when he had leaned into her, and back up, being sure to leave tiny scratches made by the serrated portion of the blade near the handle.

"She tells me the rumors that float around down there." Her voice was had steadied, even though she kept her eyes closed. "You and your brother are guaranteed hot topics, always a new story, always a new death to share and snicker at. They love to hate you boys. That's how I know most of those names, I've heard them whispered so many times that they have begun to be what comes to mind when it's time for new aliases. I would hate to distract you with all the boring details, but know that I wouldn't have taunted you with the name if I'd known how you'd react. I thought it would just seem like another on the list."

"You thought wrong." Her eyes opened again and bore into his. He noted that they were still fairly glassed over.

"Well, if you're satisfied with the answer, I would very much like to speak to your brother."

He turned with a scowl and called requested hunter back to them from where he had wandered off to. Sam came jogging in from a ramped entrance and asked what was up. After filling him in on what had been said he raised his voice so that Sara could hear from where she sat.

"The witches' whore would like a word." He said waving the knife in Sara's direction. Sam's eyebrows raised.

"I guess it was a good thing we looped her in iron, then. Funny, I took her as more of a fighter than a caster."

Sara rolled her eyes and snapped. "_Her_ is sitting right here, and would greatly appreciate some non demonic assistance in stopping her bleeding before she slips further into hypovolemic shock."

_Well, that would explain the eyes, _Dean thought as Sam jumped forward at the suggestion of health endangerment. After he skimmed over her appearance and guessed at the amount of blood pooled at her feet and that she had lost since he slashed her, he shrugged, seeming to write off his initial response as an over reaction.

"You've lost a lot, but I don't think its anything to worry about."

"And that would be a perfectly reasonable assumption... for a pre-law student," she grunted, "try adding in the fact I lost a quart of blood to a vamp yesterday and about 500 ml to a wolf the night before. Come on, Sam, think like a hunter, you know you cut me deep." She nodded to the partially visible claw marks under the hem of her shorts, the center two deep enough to have called for floss stitching; and then strained her left wrist against the ropes long enough to flip it over a show a crescent line of tiny punctures.

He nodded and moved to the Impala's trunk. He returned with a metal box of first aid materials and set to work from a kneeling position. After finishing with the gash on the her right forearm and moving on to her upper left, he broke the silence.

"So, if you're with a witch, where is your book and stuff? And why didn't you use more spellwork on us? It would have been a lot easier to just knock us unconscious and stroll out like you walked in." Seeing that he spoke with general curiosity and had manage to stop the bleeding without too much pain, Sara decided that he might as well get something out of it.

"Your brother jumped the gun a little. I am _not _a witch or one of their needy, little whores. No, I was raised by one. I sliced out her heart years ago, but instead of disappearing into the veil like any good mother should, it turns out that she had made a deal, her soul for enough mystic energy to summon my father back to her when she was about your age. So, she's somewhere in the transitional phase between witch and demon, with just enough resilient power to haunt me from Hell even after I salted and burned her corpse."

At that, Sam pressed his thumb deep into the most inflamed claw mark on her thigh and leaned in, saying in the same curious tone he had used previously, now perverted by his actions:

"Well, that's funny, because I happen to know that no soul can survive a proper burning, and seeing that you managed to send off that ghost earlier, I don't think there's any doubt that you are capable."

Sara let loose a string of profanities at him as the reddened skin protested and a threesome of stitches ripped loose. She yelped and attempted to wrench her leg out of his reach, making him grip even more tightly and rip another few sutures.

"God damn you, you bastard, that hurts! Let go! Is this because I nailed you in the 'nads? Because, damn it, I'll say sorry if you'll just fucking stop! I'm sorry!" She hissed the last words through clenched teeth, but Sam only loosen his hold. _If only she would stop lying, she would make all this a lot easier on herself,_ he thought. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his own shitty hotel bed and sleep 'til noon, but Sara here just wasn't going to let that happen. After holding a few seconds longer, he relented.

"Goddamnit, you Neanderthal, you're worse than your demon brother. I was going to clarify, it you'd waited a moment, but it seems I can't catch a break with you two. I was going to say: that -because of her being in a transitional state- the bone burning had no effect, so I'm stuck with the batty bitch forever. Do you know what it's like to have a superpowered demon-hybrid criticizing your every- oh, but of course, _you_ do..." She dropped off with her eyes timidly flitting between Sam and back towards where Dean was lounging on the Impala's hood, mocking realization. Sam lifted a brow, pretending to be unsure what she meant.

"Don't give me that look, Winchester, we both know that this years has been a rough one for the two of you, though, I don't know why you would put up with his crap. Just listening to a demon has driven me to near paranoia, I can't imagine what it feels like to live with one." She smirked then dropped into silence as Sam moved back to bandaging her arm. It lasted only long enough for the makeshift doctor the sterilize the cut, because as soon as he stood to retrieve another roll of gauze from the Impala, Sara sat up as straight as her restraints would allow.

"Shit! What time is it?" she shouted at both of the brothers.

"Does it matter? You're tied to a chair." responded Dean in a condescending voice.

"Shut up, Jackass, I just need to know the time."

Sam supplied that it was a little past four in the morning after retrieving his phone and checking the display. She groaned loudly.

"I would have had a four hour time gap from the time I left the house until I had to get my car, but thanks to you morons, that opportunity has evaporated."

Dean scoffed. "Calm down, Princess, Sam drove your hunk of plastic back from the hotel. It's parked out of the street."

"That's just the car of the douchebag who had mine towed, Jackass. My darling is locked up in the Murray Impound off McCain, and the Murry's will probably find all my goods as soon as they pop the boot and hit the back panel. Damn it!" She tossed her head back and groaned again, immediately regretting it when the motion shot pain up both sides of her face.

"Well, that does explain why you had such shitty guns on you when we took you down." Dean said with a sly glance her way.

"I believe you mean when you jumped me in my hotel room." she bit back.

"All's fair in hunting and payback, sweetheart."

"You son of a bitc-"

"Both of you need to chill." Sam said, having moved himself in between them, blocking their lines of view. It would have meant very little had they been in a legitimate fight, but with Sara tied down and Dean reclining on the car, he felt that is was a pretty solid mediator move.

Dean sobered slightly.

"Knock it off, Sammy. You know she crossed a line."

"Yeah, she crossed it, but she didn't know what it meant. Dean, why are we even still here? She's made the closest thing to an apology that she's going to make and _you _said that we'd stay in town long enough to take care of the ghost. Well, the ghost is taken care of, so unless you can think of a reason to stay here any longer, I'm going to cut her ropes. It seems like we've screwed up her night a lot more than she's screwed up ours." Sam waited just a beat before moving back to the woman, knowing that if his brother had a reason, he would have said it the moment he was giving a chance.

Once he had shuffled his way back to her, he slid his knife under the heavily knotted restraints one by one until she was loose. Sara pulled herself forward to the lip of the wooden chair and perched there as she attempted to rub some feeling back into her arms while carefully avoiding the fresh wounds. Now that her feet were actually free to touch the ground she remembered that she had been shoeless during the altercation in the hotel and it seemed that the men hadn't bothered to grab anything of use on their way out, like her boots or even the pair of sweats she had left on the bed to change into after her shower. _Why clothe what you're just going to kill,_ she decided most had been their logic. _Sound thinking._

"You can go," Sam said holding out the key to the Challenger, "Sorry, about all this, I guess." He managed to look a little ashamed, but the annoyed huff from Dean's direction meant the feeling was not shared.

Sara raised an eyebrow as she raked her finger through her hair and across her scalp in an attempt to relieve the ache pounding in her head.

"Okay, first off, you better be lending me a jacket and a pair of socks. Second, you cannot seriously believe that you are getting off that easily."

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><p>Reviews are appreciated, lovelies.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Happy Holidays if you are celebrating something, and if not feel free to celebrate cats, because mine is totally uninterested **__**in all things human and I praise her abilities to feel so indifferent. **_

_**Also, feel free to blame school for my lack of uploading. **_

_Sara__raised an eyebrow as she raked her finger through her hair and across her scalp in an attempt to relieve the ache pounding in her head._

_"__Okay,__first off, you better be lending me a jacket and a pair of socks. Second, you cannot seriously believe that you are getting off that easily."_

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><p>It took Sara about twenty minutes to realize just how especially unfortunate her situation was. The first attempt at retrieving her car had consisted of having the men idle up the street while she spoke to the night guard, but even with a few hundreds tossed around the guy refused to let her in. She couldn't find it in herself to blame him, because while she needed nothing more than to appear open and approachable, she had to keep to the entreat him from the dark during his rounds to obscure the number the human meat cleavers had done on her, because, like it or not, the thirty-odd year old men did not keep even the most basic of make up in their car. She returned to the Chevy just as its aforementioned residents seemed to be losing whatever patience they had possessed and were speaking quickly and quietly across the benched front seat. As she approached the driver's side window she caught a few words over the grumble of rock music streaming from the vehicle's dash.<p>

"- at least this, Dean. Besides, a new connection may be a good thing, most of ours seem to be evaporating." Sam only received an annoyed head bob as a response, but it seemed to satisfy him. Sara reached out a knocked on the roof of the car, noticing that neither brother so much as flinched at her intrusion, but simply turned to face her as she leaned her head even with theirs through the open window.

"Sorry, boys, but this may be as straightforward as any of us wanted."

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><p>Dean Winchester was coming to the conclusion that this girl was far more trouble than she was worth. First, she had gotten in their way, then shot them multiple times, then made them waste four hours that Sam could have been sleeping and he could have been using to find a new case, and now they were <em>helping<em> her get her car out of an impound. Not to mention that she had insisted on taking _his_ clothes (though she did insist on using Sam's best jacket). When she reappeared empty handed, he contemplated driving off, wheels smoking and all. But what Sam had muttered as she came closer was beginning to resonate in him. They had lost a lot of allies the last few years, some to he and his brother's own bad choices, and as capable as the two of them were, walking around blind to the events of the world is not the best way to keep your brother alive. But either way, she was a pain in the ass.

"What do you mean, Sara? He wouldn't even take the cash?" Sam asked with a slight tone of true surprise. "Huh, minimum wage worker with actual integrity..."

"Yeah, its a miracle." Dean was barely able to limit himself to just a sarcastic tone. "So," angled his head toward the current bane of his existence, "What's next, Sunshine?"

Sara's smile would have been flirtatious is not for the squinting in the corners of her eyes and the generally blue state of her face, "You two get to help."

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><p>Five minutes later, Dean and Sara were watching from the shadows by the gate as Sam entered the office building on the north side of the lot. The worker had finished his rounds and returned there as Sara had explained plan B. Dean had grumbled a little at first, more than annoyed that the idea had strung Sara and himself together, but couldn't help to agree with its applicable simplicity. She had instructed Sam to keep the guard distracted for at least five minutes while she and Dean broke in, found her car, and drove out like nothing ever happened. They would meet back at her hotel to keep from any post-heist car changing issues. Dean had picked the three padlocks in moments but waited to see Sam walk in front of the window, the agreed 'all clear', before causing any movement of the chain link fence. After seeing his brother brown mop pass by he pushed the gate open enough for he and Sara to enter.<p>

Visibility was low, not to mention that the impounded cars were intermixed with junkers, motorcycles, and hulking work trucks, and thanks to her cars age, it didn't come with the now standard clicker-key requirement. That left Dean and Sara to wander around the rows of forgotten cars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the vehicle.

"What is the thing anyway?" He asked as they turned the corner of yet another row.

"Quite, Winchester, there's a guard dog around here somewhere. And the cars is a carmine and black '69 Mustang I inherited, and is, sadly, very hard to see in the dark." She whispered while rising to her toes in an attempt the see over the hummer that was blocking her view of half the cars in front of her.

"Carmine?" He was tired of the girl's half explanations.

"Oh, sorry, it's a dark red. I had it repainted a couple years ago." She silently moved up to and around the Hummer and sighed happily. Dean decided that she must have found the Mustang and walked up to her side.

"Okay, we found the thing, can we get going now?" He could make out the rear of a '69 Ford well in the dark, the clarity that accompanied his dark disposition allowed him practically selective vision once he had on object to focus on. Dean could make out the more-than-likely-fake plate, baggage in the back seat, and a large, dark, lightly breathing lump on the front hood. He reached out for Sara's hand just as she slid the key into the lock and turned. A shudder ran through the mutt and his head lifted.

"Damn," they cursed simultaneously.

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><p>Sara moved back in hopes of putting space between her face and that of the now very alert dog. A deep grumble started in the animal's throat and it stood up, making it nearly a foot taller than her, but she stood still and attempted to open her mind. She felt the prickle of the other consciousnesses around her: Dean and the dog right next to her, Sam and the guard in the building 200 feet away, and a collection of stray cats living in the drain outside the fence. She could feel them, but nothing was flowing back and forth accept for the dog's anger. Sara cut the connections nearly as quickly as she had made them, but not before she received a sharp image of a drawn gun and felt Dean move his arm to his waist band.<p>

"Dean Winchester, you better not shoot this damn dog." She whispered, moving her mouth as little as possible and knocking her right knee against his left slightly at punctuate her statement. The growl that she got in return harmonized with that of the dog staring her down. Dean relaxed his arm, only to jump forward a second later and planting one foot directly on top of her own causing her to yelp and fall to a right-heavy crouch. The mutt took the opportunity to leap at her, the obviously weaker of the two interlopers, from its perch on the car. Dean's canvas clad arms intercepted it in midair, catching it around the throat with his left and securing the hold by pressing his right forearm into back of its neck. He trapped the muscled body between his own and the car so that the dog wouldn't break its own neck during the struggle. The hold remained lock for just over twenty seconds, until the dog lost consciousness, at which point Dean tossed it onto the hood of the Hummer they had passed.

The engine cranked just as he turned to help Sara up from the ground. He caught sight of her blonde head whipping around to glance out the rear window, before she hit the gas after angling the wheel just so that the Mustang back with a curve slight enough the run perfectly over Dean's foot without hitting anything else. Dean roared in anger as he felt the bones in his foot crumble.

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><p>Sara had straightened the car and was idling, lights off, with the passenger door open towards Dean. He stomped over, ignoring the the <em>crunch<em> that seemed to echo through his body with each step. He dropped into the seat and slammed the door shut.

They drove quietly, giving the building as big of circumference as possible in the confined space of the impound lot. As they came up to the gate, after checking that no one was in view of the window, Dean opened the door of the slow moving car and hurried on his lame foot to the lock they had loosely placed on the latch. After pushing the gate open just wide enough, he signaled Sara to pull through. He noticed that she was slower to respond than she had been all night and resealed the gate after the car was clear.

Sara felt the heat just seconds before her companion had leaped out to open the gate and in the seconds that it took him to unlock and open it, the pain had completely encircled her ring finger and was spreading up her forearm. She knew she had maybe minute before she lost consciousness. On the other side of the gate, she dropped the car into park as Dean opened his door. He cocked his head at the sound of the mechanism change and turned to look at the driver, but instead he could only see a faint yellow glow slowly creeping its way up her arm. Dean started for a few seconds before she spoke.

"Well, Winchester, looks like you get to drive instead. Don't hurt him." The yellow reached her neck and her eyes flashed the same color. She went completely limp.

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><p><em><strong>Reviews make me happy, criticism is welcome.<strong>_


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